Princess Of Convenience

by Marion Lennox

  Princess Jessica?

  Raoul’s wife.

  She liked it.

  No. She loved it. She just…loved it.

  The kiss went on and on, with neither party wanting to be the first to pull away. Why would she want such a thing? He was searching her mouth, plundering her lips with his tongue. His hands were pulling her closer, closer, while overhead the bumble-bees droned in the morning warmth, the flowers dripped their crimson petals and their audience beamed and beamed and beamed.

  And when the kiss ended-as finally, inevitably, even a kiss such as this must end-they broke apart and Jess knew her life had changed. And more, she knew that it wasn’t just she who was feeling like this.

  Raoul’s eyes were clouded, dazed, and he gazed into her eyes and she knew that he felt exactly the same as she did.

  He wanted her. And she wanted him.

  Well, why not? she demanded wildly of herself. She was no virgin bride and she knew how good it could be between man and woman. Even if that man had been Warren, it had once been fun. But Raoul… How much better with Raoul?

  And Raoul himself…what had he said? He’d had a thousand women?

  But this wasn’t about wanting anyone, she told herself, striving desperately for logic. It was more. If she slept with this man, if she stayed with him much longer-then her heart would be given absolutely. She was so close to falling in love.

  And love was stupid. Impossible. He was a royal prince and she was a convenient bride who’d now go back to the palace, twist off the wedding ring that he’d placed on her finger for show and forget about being a princess. She’d pack her bags and leave for Australia.

  Leaving her husband behind.

  He saw her confusion. How could he not? He put his finger under her chin and he lifted her face so he was looking straight down into her eyes.

  ‘Don’t look so bewildered, Jess,’ he told her gently. ‘It was just a kiss. No?’

  ‘N…no.’

  No? She was agreeing with him. Or disagreeing with him. She didn’t know which.

  It was just a kiss.

  He’d had a thousand women.

  He was a royal prince. Get a grip, Jess. She was looking dumb.

  So explain it. Find some sort of reality.

  ‘I’m sorry but I thought I’d better look moonstruck,’ she managed. ‘For our audience.’

  She’d surprised him. She saw a flash of what could have been bewilderment in his eyes-but then the laughter returned and the mask was in place and he was turning his bride to face their audience.

  To face the world.

  ‘We’ve done it,’ he said, smiling, and M. Luiten surged forward to kiss the bride, and so did the housekeeper and then so did the gardener, even though that ancient relic had hands that had just come out of the turnip patch and if Jess had been wearing white gossamer it would have been a disaster. But it was no disaster. She was a gardening type of bride. The bride wore denim…

  ‘Now.’ M. Luiten was rubbing his hands. ‘I need to get everything here copied and sent to every dignitary in this country so there can be no possible doubt that this marriage is binding.’ Then, as the housekeeper and gardener disappeared reluctantly back to their duties, he became even more direct. ‘I’ve done my job,’ he told them. ‘Raoul, you take your bride home and consummate the marriage before anyone can possibly gainsay it.’

  ‘No!’ The two voices spoke as one and M. Luiten glanced from Raoul to Jess and back again.

  ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Raoul demanded. ‘Consummate? How can anyone gainsay our marriage if it’s not consummated?’

  ‘It’s in the ascendancy rulings,’ monsieur told them-apologetically. ‘It’s to stop a child becoming Prince Regent and it dates from the times when princes were married off as children. The prince regent must be a partner in a consummated marriage.’

  ‘No one told me that,’ Jess said, weakly, and Raoul’s hand gripped her shoulder in empathy.

  ‘No one told me that either.’

  ‘Welcome to reality,’ M. Luiten told them. He looked doubtfully at the pair before him. ‘But there’s no problem, is there?’

  ‘Please tell me we don’t have to prove technically that it’s been consummated,’ Jess managed, with visions of ancient traditions, groomsmen around the bed cheering the groom on, brides’ mothers producing stained sheets… What was the modern equivalent? DNA testing? Surely not.

  ‘No,’ M. Luiten told them, but he cast an uneasy glance at the retreating back of his servants and waited until they were well out of earshot before he continued. ‘But let’s not take any chances. Just make sure you’re nicely compromised, Jessie, my dear.’

  Compromised. She thought back to all those historical novels she’d read-the ones without the groomsmen cheering. Compromising seemed to have been achieved quite easily when a girl’s reputation was at stake. ‘Raoul slept with me last night,’ she ventured, and Monsieur Luiten beamed his approval.

  ‘Very good. That will do it. Now you’re married, do it again tonight.’

  ‘Hey,’ Raoul said, startled. ‘We did not sleep together.’

  ‘We did, too,’ Jess said demurely, and nudged him meaningfully in the ribs. This type of consummation she could handle. ‘Are you saying you didn’t come to my chamber at midnight and stay until well after dawn?’ She smiled at him-still demure. ‘Dear?’

  He choked. ‘Yes, but…’

  ‘There you go, then,’ she said serenely. ‘Consummated.’ She turned back to M. Luiten. ‘If there’s any doubt then ask Henri. He burst in on us at dawn.’

  ‘When you were compromised?’

  ‘Well, sort of,’ she said and Raoul choked again.

  The magistrate gave him a doubtful glance. But he spoke to Jess. Of the pair, he’d obviously decided she was the sensible one. ‘Someone well might ask Henri,’ the old magistrate growled. ‘There’s a lot at stake here so make sure you get it right. Stay together tonight and make sure there are people about as witnesses.’ And then his look of worry faded.

  ‘I know you’ll do the right thing,’ he told them. ‘You’ve done enough. The terms of the regency seem to have been fulfilled. Raoul, you’re now the Regent. Ruling monarch for the next eighteen years until Edouard is of age. And your bride is the Princess Jessica.’

  ‘Princess.’ She wrinkled her nose. This was sounding more and more like some sort of crazy historical tale. How could this be happening? On this nicely normal morning, in this real-life setting? With this gorgeous prince beside her?

  Forget the prince, she told herself desperately. Focus on yourself. Princess? It sounded ridiculous.

  ‘I need to address you as Your Highness,’ M. Luiten told her and she blushed from the toes up.

  ‘I’m not-’

  ‘Yes, you are,’ he told her, very definitely. ‘From this day forth. Now, off you go, the pair of you. Back to your castle. A prince and his princess forever. And me? I’ll go back to a second cup of coffee-after I’ve attended to some photocopying and a few very important phone calls.’

  ‘Not to the Press,’ Raoul growled and Jess looked startled. The Press?

  ‘No. Oh, no.’

  ‘They need to know,’ M. Luiten said, surprised. ‘You can’t keep this a secret. More, you don’t want to. Marcel needs to be put in his place and the population needs to be told. Indeed, I can’t think of any announcement that will be met with more joy in this country.’

  ‘But…’ Jess looked at Raoul for confirmation and he nodded. This, it seemed, was her call. ‘I’m leaving the country as soon as I can,’ she said. ‘It would be so much better for everyone if the Press didn’t learn of it until after I left.’

  ‘So much better for everyone?’ the magistrate prodded and she gave a shamefaced grin.

  ‘Well…so much better for me.’

  ‘A wedding without a bride.’

  ‘That’s what this is, after all,’ she said. ‘I’m a wife in name only. To
pretend otherwise isn’t going to work for a minute.’ She blushed. ‘OK, we’ll get the consummation bit sorted but after that I’m out of here, and I’d like to be gone before there’s any fuss.’

  ‘Raoul?’ The magistrate looked to Raoul for confirmation and he nodded.

  ‘It’s a big thing Jess has done for us,’ he growled. ‘We’ll not ask more of her. Surely a wedding is enough.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THEY drove away, stunned. Or Raoul was probably stunned, Jess thought. She definitely was.

  Princess Jessica.

  The name drifted in her head as they turned toward the town boundaries, and then started up the mountainside to where the fairy-tale castle nestled on an eyrie that looked out over all the land to the sea beyond. Over all this principality.

  She was a princess. Going home to her castle.

  She choked back laughter.

  ‘What?’ Raoul asked. He seemed to be deep in thought-or maybe he was just concentrating on the winding road.

  ‘Do you think people will find out?’

  ‘That we’re married? Of a surety they’ll find out. They must. Hopefully the fuss will wait until you’re safely out of the country, but our marriage will have major consequences for everyone here.’

  ‘I meant…back in Australia,’ she said in a small voice. The enormity of what she’d done was just hitting home. She’d proposed to a prince and she’d married him. She thought back to her workrooms, where her staff were hopefully beavering away producing her latest designs. She might have a loyal staff but they weren’t exactly deferential.

  Princess Jessica. They’d think it was fantastic. Fantastic and very, very funny.

  ‘My staff will give me heaps,’ she said ruefully.

  ‘Give you heaps?’

  ‘They’ll tease me into the middle of next week.’

  ‘You can always sack them.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, right. That’s me. Princess Jessica sacking her staff because they’re teasing her.’ The feeling of unreality faded a little and she chuckled out loud. ‘I’d like to see it. Besides, I’ve been transformed into a princess, not a wicked witch. You have your fairy tales mixed.’

  ‘It seems so unreal?’

  ‘It certainly does,’ she told him. ‘Bring on your magic wands. I can’t believe this is happening. And tomorrow or the next day I have to get on the plane and go home, transforming back into being just me. A nine-to-five existence is going to seem crazy after this.’

  He looked across at her curiously.

  ‘You know, there’s no need for you to continue with a nine-to-five existence,’ he said gently. ‘You’ll never have to work again.’

  That silenced her. She worked at it for a minute, considering his statement from all angles, but any way she looked at it it didn’t make sense.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘As my wife, you’ll receive a more than generous income from the royal exchequer.’ He rounded a particularly tight bend and concentrated on straightening the car. ‘You needn’t worry about the morality of accepting it,’ he told her. ‘The people aren’t taxed to pay your income. This royal family has wealth which goes back hundreds of years. You’re very well provided for.’

  Whoa. ‘I’m not,’ she said flatly. ‘The idea’s ridiculous.’

  ‘You’ve done the country a service,’ he said, just as flatly. ‘You deserve to be compensated.’

  ‘I told you,’ she said, and she couldn’t keep the surge of anger from her voice, ‘I’m the owner of Waves. I’m very nicely off, thank you very much, and I have no intention of taking any of your money. Or any of your exchequer’s money, whatever an exchequer is. People would say I married you for your wealth and there’s no way I want part of that. And you can forget the princess thing. A princess can’t be an Australian fashion designer. Princess Jessica sounds like some type of Kewpie doll, or a little girl’s fashion label. How much respect would I get with a name like that?’

  He smiled. ‘A great deal of respect.’

  ‘Not in the circles I move in.’ She folded her arms and looked grumpily ahead. ‘No way.’

  ‘Jess,’ he said, gently into the silence, ‘you’ve pushed me to be Prince Raoul. Your conditions stipulate that I stay here-stay in the royal goldfish bowl. I can’t escape royalty. You’re either royal or you’re not. We’re both royal, from this day forth.’

  ‘You didn’t make any such stipulation,’ she told him. ‘And don’t go doing the injustice thing to me. You were born a prince. I was born a nice little commoner and that’s the way I intend to stay.’

  ‘So you’ll return to Australia with nothing.’

  ‘With a certificate saying I have a very good-looking husband. With the satisfaction of having a really cute step-nephew who’s being raised by people who love him. And,’ she told him-giving him the most virtuous smirk she could manage, ‘I have the truly noble gift of having saved a man by marriage. Saved a prince by marriage. How many girls can add that to their curriculum vitae?’

  He chuckled. To her amazement he chuckled. It was the nicest sound, she decided. The best.

  ‘OK,’ he conceded, when laughter faded. ‘It’s a job well done. And it is a job well done, Jess.’

  ‘Yep. So we’ll get this consummation business over tonight and tomorrow I can leave,’ she said promptly, and the smile which still lingered at the corners of his mouth disappeared. His brow furrowed. Royalty was displeased?

  ‘Why so soon?’

  ‘I need to be back.’

  ‘You were here on a buying trip. You’ve done virtually no buying.’

  She hesitated. Say it like it is, a little voice told her-so she did.

  ‘It’s not just wanting to avoid fuss,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t want to get any more fond of Edouard.’

  Or of his uncle, she added, but she didn’t say that.

  A thousand women? There was no way she intended becoming number one thousand and one.

  ‘I’m not sure you can leave tomorrow,’ he told her. ‘There’ll be formalities. I need to consult the lawyers.’

  ‘Raoul, you can stay in my room tonight,’ she said generously. ‘Have as many people outside as you like so we prove the marriage is consummated. We’ll stuff a tissue in the keyhole and you sleep on the settee. You can even stick an X-rated video on the telly if you like so our audience can have some sound effects. I’ll close the bedroom door and won’t listen.’

  ‘Um…’ he said faintly. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Think nothing of it. That’ll be the formalities over, but that’s it. We’re free to spend the rest of our wedded bliss safely on separate sides of the world.’

  ‘Seriously, Jess…’

  ‘Seriously,’ she said. ‘Seriously it’s best this way. I leave here fast before there are any complications.’

  ‘And you want nothing?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Jess, I can’t let you…’

  But she was no longer listening. She was staring ahead. There was a farmer walking steadily along on the verge. He was leading…

  ‘Alpacas,’ she breathed, suddenly totally distracted. ‘Oh, Raoul, look at that.’

  Three alpacas.

  One large alpaca being led by a harness.

  Two tiny alpacas, stumbling along behind.

  ‘What the…?’ He pulled the car to a halt, but she was out of the car before it had stopped.

  Alpacas?

  Raoul parked the van safely far off the road and emerged to find his bride crouched on the roadside. She was examining alpaca babies. Crias. One white. One brown.

  Alpacas were the weirdest animals, he thought as he walked back along the verge. Crias-baby alpacas-were even more weird than their adult counterparts. They seemed a cross between a camel and a goat, and their faces looked as if they’d come straight off the pages of a comic book. They were quizzical, comical and very, very cute.

  The sight of them brought back a rush of memories-of the time before his family had been ripped apa
rt. Lisle had loved alpacas, he remembered. She’d had a pet one…

  This day was turning into an emotional roller coaster. He took a grip-sort of-and attempted to move on.

  ‘Jess, we can’t stay here. It’s not a safe place to park.’

  ‘These are suri,’ she told him, without looking up from admiring the babies. ‘Do you know how rare these are?’ She beamed up at the man leading the adult alpaca. ‘You have twins. A boy and a girl. They are twins?’ she asked him in his own language.

  ‘Yes.’ The man, an elderly farmer, dressed rough, seemed less than enchanted with his babies. ‘Twins.’

  She didn’t notice his disenchantment. ‘Twins are about a one in fifty thousand chance in alpacas,’ she told Raoul. ‘What a blessing. And different colours…’ She sat back on the grassy verge, smiling in delight. Their tiny faces peered back at her and she fondled each face in turn. ‘What are you calling them?’ she asked.

  ‘A nuisance.’ Like Raoul, the farmer didn’t seem to want to stop. ‘Miss…’ He glanced up at Raoul, as if asking for help.

  But then he froze. His face stilled in recognition.

  ‘Your Highness.’ His voice was a gasp and there was something else besides shock there. Fear? ‘Prince Raoul?’ he stammered.

  It was definitely fear. This wasn’t the first time he’d met fear when the locals recognised him, Raoul thought bitterly, momentarily diverted from Jess and her alpacas. His brother and his father had done some real damage. For this man to be afraid…

  This had repercussions for the whole country. The population had been betrayed by their royal family and by their government. He closed his eyes as the realisation sank in one stage deeper. Jess was right in imposing her conditions. She might be able to walk away from this country, but he couldn’t.

  He was trapped.

  He was also stuck at this roadside while his bride patted alpacas-and with the local farmer looking as if he was expecting to be shot for blocking the road.

  He wasn’t even blocking the road.

  ‘Yes, I’m Prince Raoul,’ he managed. ‘Relax. I’m not about to bite.’ He smiled down at the crias-even though the last thing he wanted to do was smile at alpaca babies. On top of everything else, there was a bit of domesticity happening here that he wasn’t too sure about. Watching Jess cuddle babies of any sort… There was gut clenching going on inside him that he didn’t want to think about.